Anonymous
by stormsandsins
Summary: Harry feels compelled to address a letter to his deceased godfather. A small mystery follows. A quick fic that turns out to be a little sad.


**Anonymous**

Harry sat on the edge of his bed, a parchment roll yellowed by time stretched out before him on his knees and a quill in hand. Everything was surprisingly quiet in the dormitory. Dean and Seamus were still downstairs in the common room, slaving over a Potions homework due for the next morning class. Neville was outside, probably playing in the snow. He could see some students still outside if he stretched enough to look out the window by his bed. And Ron, well, he was practising with Ginny on the Quidditch pitch. Hermione had gone out with them to keep up their spirits. It was a lovely day, but he ached.

His emotions were just a big farrago right now. He didn't know what to think anymore. It seemed it was only yesterday that his godfather fell behind the veil. And yet, it had been quite a little while. It was true that he'd eventually had to accept the fact, but… God, he ached, and ached. Sirius had been the only person left to be able to lift his spirits, besides Remus. But Remus had left the country to pick up another job in Romania. And now, nobody understood.

He felt like he was on the edge of something he couldn't control. An emotion that he couldn't get out, but was sure was bound to burst sometime soon.

He dipped his quill in the ink bottle, and held it in mid-air before turning back to the parchment on his lap.

Dear Sirius,

I miss you. I miss your loud laugh and the way you proudly looked at me whenever I did something my father would have done or wanted me to do.

He paused, not quite sure where he was heading, but deciding to just clear his head of all derogatory thoughts.

I guess I'm writing because I'm wishing you'll write back and tell me it was all a joke and you reappeared behind that veil…

Tears prickled in his eyes as he wrote furiously, almost tearing the parchment apart with the tip of his quill.

… but I know you won't. I know I'm writing this letter for no reason because it won't reach you. I'm doing this because I want a part of me to think… to hope for an answer. I know it's probably unhealthy; you've been gone for almost two years.

Harry wiped a tear away from the corner of his eye where it was pooling.

But for some reason, I'm… stuck in the past, I guess. I hate reality. I hate the fact that you're dead.

Look at me, I'm crying.

To prove his point, Harry wiped furiously at another tear that was traveling down his cheek.

Is this healthy? Should I be crying still? I wish I wasn't. At least I wouldn't feel the infliction of the pain whenever my thoughts wander to remind me of the truth. It hurts, Sirius. Now I understand how it must have felt for you to learn about my parents' death and seeing it for yourself. It must have terrified you.

You must have felt the same way I do now. I understand.

Harry looked out the window for an instant, trying to calm the raging storm inside of him.

Still, I feel responsible for your death. It's hard to believe how a fifteen year-old boy could have led his godfather, the man he trusted the most, to a place where he was bound to die… to his invisible tomb. It hate to think about it. That night was my worst ever. I didn't even close my eyes that night, in fear of… I guess you wouldn't want me to dwell on death anymore.

He bit his lip as a thought suddenly occured to him when he was about to sign the parchment.

I'm in seventh year now. Without you time seems to tick by too slowly.

I want you to know that, without you, I probably wouldn't have made up my mind about my future. I want you to know I've been accepted at the Auror Academy.

I must go now. Hope you're somewhere with my parents and enjoying yourself with them.

Take care,

Harry.

The second he was about to roll his letter and stash it somewhere nobody would be able to find it (a good Concealing Charm would have done the trick), a small white owl swept in through the window. Harry looked at it curiously. It was an immaculate white owl with big chocolate eyes, small and with an enveloppe in its beak. He looked at the recipient's name and was surprised to see his name written in a deep navy blue across the thin enveloppe. The owl took off gracefully as soon as Harry had it in hand, leaving him confused. Usually, owls that small rested a bit before taking off again. He shrugged, unsealing the enveloppe and unfolding it before him. It was a large piece of parchment for such a small message:

Dear Harry,

Please forgive yourself.

Anonymous.

Tears prickled down his eyes at the message's meaning, but this time he didn't ache. He took back his own roll of parchment, and went to the end of the letter, dipping his quill one last time in the ink bottle before turning back to the parchment before him.

Dear Sirius,

I love you.

Harry.


End file.
